Portrait of Passion
Walter Aldridge
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The cosy coffee shops, unique gift boutiques, and small galleries
conjure up a cosmopolitan atmosphere within the King Street precinct. On
that fateful afternoon the drizzling rain added to the milieu as I
quickly walked along the cobble laneway, when from the corner of my eye,
I caught a glimpse of a portrait in the window of a studio/gallery.
Belle was scribbled in the corner. Her blue penetrating eyes caught
mine, her smile, which could have been immortalised by Leonardo,
captured my soul. Descending a set of stairs I was greeted by Francis, a
polite man in his forties. 'Oh! Yes she is so captivating,' he commented
with a lilt in his voice, ‘I was so fortunate to acquire her from a
deceased estate only last week. She is an actress you know, Belinda
Gateshead, and I believe she lives here in Perth.'
Taking it from the window we gazed at it with delight, absorbing the
pleasures of her sensuality, again her eyes penetrated deep into my
soul. We negotiated a price, and she was mine. Going straight home I
hung her to the right of my bed, a position where she would be the
subject of my night-time dreams and my early morning fantasies. Her
haunting smile conjuring up thoughts of both passion and coveted desire.
Another rainy day some months later, I was again passing the gallery and
stopped to look through the window for curiosity sake. There in the
corner was a lady, in her mid sixties I guessed, bare breasted, she was
posing for a young artist. Our eyes met, she slowly pulled her blouse
together and smiled. It was her, I was sure; it was the lady of my
dreams and fantasies. Opening the door I walked towards her to apologise
for my visual intrusion. Francis, on seeing me introduced her, and told
her of my recent purchase. She held out her hand - and in my willful
desire and for reasons unknown to me, I bent over and kissed it.
I apologised for the interruption, but she, looking weary assured me
that the session was already over. As a token gesture I offered lunch
but to my surprise and delight she accepted. In a small boutique French
style cafè she told me of her career as an actress, studying in London
and New York, then playing Shakespearean roles at the West and East
ends, while at home she performed in both Melbourne and Sydney. Much of
this I already knew, for after buying her portrait I studied her career
at the Alexander Reference Library, going in each weekend to prise out
another morsel of detail, a little more to fuel my fantasy. She didn't
mention the controversy back in the seventies, a love affair with the
Minister of Arts that ended in tragedy, he committing suicide leaving
her with their love child. She did however speak of her daughter, to
whom the monies from her modeling and paintings were in a Trust. She
talked of her latest assignment as the last in a series of her modeling
career. The first being the one in my sacred possession. The "last" I
questioned, only to be shrugged off - but for a fleeting moment I
thought I saw a glimpse of sadness blur her eyes.
The meal was light, the salmon salad fresh and spicy being washed down
with an unwooded Chardonnay. We walked home still chatting of her
struggles and her highlights, the Victorian style Lawson Apartments our destination.
Afternoon tea was suggested, and me, not wanting to leave her side, only
wanting to be with her forever, accepted. The door opened into a room
that reflected her era and her personality. Sanderson rose-fabric
covered the lounge and cosy chairs, while heavy pink drapes with a
centrepiece of white lace hung in the windows. Tall lamps with beaded
shades stood in key places, while a rosewood dining table complimented
the rest of the decor. She bid me to sit, she disappearing into the
kitchenette. Returning she smiled saying, 'the kettle is on! Now tell me
your story and why you bought the painting,' I could see her vanity
swell as I told her of the beauty the artist had captured - "a beauty
that is still there to this very day".
Over tea we talked of travel and of visiting exotic places, both of
which we enjoyed and wished to pursue.
Picking up the silver tray she placed it on the dining table, I stood as
she returned. Our hands reached for each other’s, our lips met. Like the
caress of a butterfly, so soft and tender her lips touched mine, a kiss,
even in the wonders of my imagination, I never before experienced. She
let go of my hands and walked across the room and on opening a door, she
entered. I waited in thought for several minutes, then approached. There
on her bed she sat, her naked back towards me. Placing my arms around
her I gently persuaded her head upon the pillow and looking down into
her eyes, I could see her need for love: our lips met again, this time
in a firmer union.
Continuing, I lavish a myriad of kisses upon the soft velvet skin of her
neck and shoulders, and as I slide my tongue over her firm round
breasts, her pink nipples, as if painted in pastel watercolours grew
with each caress. A gentle kiss upon her tummy caused a current of raw
lust to surge through her already electrified body. Pursuing her
satisfaction my tongue followed a path through the wispy black hairs
that covered her mons de Venus, anointing the folds of her femininity.
Running along the fleshy vestibule, her vaginal lips slowly parted and I
could smell that mystical aroma and taste her sweet exotic juices.
Finally reaching her jewel of ultimate sexual pleasure, I gently sucked
upon it, and felt it grow within my mouth. I could also feel the tension
building as she moved closer to the summit of absolute indulgence.
Wanting to savour the supreme moment she held on, her muscles
tightening, growing tighter and tighter as she reached the boundary
between pain and ecstasy. Suddenly her body relented; culminating in a
flush of feminine liqueur that filled my mouth to overflowing. A deep
sigh passed her lips as she lay in the silence of total fulfilment.
Cupping my head in her hands she brought me to her lips, we kissed,
sliding her tongue within my mouth she relished upon the taste of our
intermingled essence. Placing my knees either side of her body I lowered
myself upon her. Now stretched to his limit, aching, and throbbing with
desire, he slid through her cum soaked vaginal lips with ease. With her
arms clutching me, she pulled me in deeper and deeper; my body shook
with divine elation. Pulling out, I raising myself up on my arms to
savour the sight of my cock, now glistening with her hallowed fluids
again slide within her and to feel her muscles tightened around him. All
of my past fantasies had not prepared me for such sexual pleasure that
she was now giving me. He was immanent, the current growing stronger and
stronger: I felt him tighten then release. It was not a surge of
uncontrolled urgency as in many times before, but a gentle discharge
that lingered forever... another wave of ecstasy came... then another.
My fingers clawing at the satin sheets I hung on, my tormented body
screaming for more. I looked again into those deep blue eyes and saw a
smile light up her face, for she too could feel him empty his love into
her. One last burst saw me fall upon her, exhausted by pure pleasure;
she held me close to her bosom.
We planned to meet on Saturday, but a hand delivered note told me she
was sadly unavailable and in need of a "procedure" at Saint John’s
Hospital, she would call early next week. Planning to visit her, I was
absolutely stunned into shock and remorse when I read Sunday’s papers.
There on the front page was her photograph and obituary. Frantic I threw
them from the table across the floor, swearing at God for His
punishment. Tears filled my every night and day.
The funeral party and friends had dispersed as I stood there in the soft
misty rain, my new love was gone, my fantasies shattered, and my dreams
in ruins. Suddenly I felt a presence at my side and turned to look into
the deep blue eyes that stared back at me. Her smile tore at the strings
of my heart and we held each other tightly as she whispered, ‘I am
Melinda, her daughter, she told me of your love for her.'